The Untold Stories: The Mother and the Daughter
by GoldenWhiteRose
Summary: 'Everybody has words they'd rather never say and secrets they'd rather keep buried.' This is the untold story of Bony Lizzie and Alice, of their times together before Alice met Tom, and even their times after that. The stories Alice has never told Tom or anyone else and would probably rather keep buried.
1. Chapter 1

**Okay, so this is just a little sample, so thank you very much for reading and if you have anything to offer or anything you would like anything put in, just drop it in a review or PM and I will be happy to oblige and to discuss ideas. I don't really have much of an idea exactly what is going to be in this so suggestions greatly appreciated! **

** Sample opening paragraph; what do we think? Alice and Agnes, just before Lizzie picks her up. **

It was the day of my parent's funeral, just two days after their death, and my aunt Agnes had taken me in to raise me as her own. She was barren, my aunt Agnes and so had never had any children of her own; she said that I would be a daughter to her now I'd lost my own mam. I had started the day dressed in my best for the funeral with my long hair washed and brushed out glossy, my aunt Agnes clearly making up for the lost years when she'd had no daughter of her own. I was pretty sure, from the things my own mam said, that if she had had a daughter she'd be sick of the sight of her by the end of the month and I wasn't looking forward to the beatings that would surely follow. My aunt Agnes was kinder to me though than my parents had ever been- they had beaten me black and blue for the smallest of things whereas my aunt Agnes only raised her hand to me on occasion.

Like before, when she'd tried to plait my hair into two like a little girl, despite the fact I was very nearly eleven, when I would begin my transition into womanhood. After insisting on bathing me herself- despite the fact I had been washing myself since the age of five- and making me stand naked by the fire while she did so she had then wanted to sit me down at her dressing table and comb out my hair 'like a proper young lady.' My aunt Agnes insisted on bringing me up right and proper, and she considered me more than a little 'wild' and 'unpolished.' She kept saying to me while she combed out my tangles 'you might have been born in Pendle, Alice, but you're no witch and you don't have to go round looking like one either' I had sulked and kept silent, not liking being compared to those warty hags with their yellow skin, long nails and dirty hair. I might not have had a new dress for every day like my aunt Agnes but then I didn't have the luxury of being able to clothe myself and I took real pride in my appearance, washing myself and my dress as often as needed. (My pointy witches shoes could rot on my feet for all I cared, though, now that my mam wasn't around to beat me for it.)

After all that babying, though, Agnes still wasn't satisfied and she'd wanted to braid my hair into two plaits tied with little ribbons at the end. I'd refused and twisted up and away from her, mussing my hair up purposefully. She'd got angry then, called me an 'ungrateful little wretch' and ordered me to sit back down.

'I don't even want to go to this stupid funeral at all! I hated my parents and they hated me. I ain't going looking like a bloody five- year- old to something I don't even want to go to.'

She'd slapped me then, my aunt Agnes, hard across my right cheek. I clenched my fists until the knuckles turned white, humiliated enough by todays babying to even care what I said anymore- I was going to show her I wasn't some little girl.

'Alice Sowerbutts, you are going to become a young lady if it is the last thing I do and you _will_ go to your parent's funeral looking presentable and _you will not_ use that language in front of me. Is that clear?' She snapped, trying to sound dangerous while her plump white chins wobbled with anger.

'My name is Alice Deane' I shouted back at her 'and I'll do whatever I want! You can't tell me what to do and neither can anyone else- bloody, bloody, bloody!' I shouted defiantly. Agnes had slapped me twice then, first one the left cheek and then on the right. My own hand came up to slap her back and as my fingers struck her cheek she fell back in furious silence.

'Alice you will put your best dress on and you will do your hair nicely. We shall talk about this after the funeral, when you shall apologise and I shall decide on your punishment, is that clear?' She hissed at me. I merely raised my chin and did not reply and so Agnes quitted the room in silent anger. I ripped my best dress off over my head- it was an ugly brown colour anyway- and purposefully tore through it so as it would be unwearable in future, no matter how much my aunt Agnes tried to repair it. I donned my usual black dress that I wore every day and ran down to the stream to wash off the scent of Agnes' yellow soap and smell more like myself.

I returned to the cottage just in time to walk with her to the funeral and her face paled, her mouth twisting in anger when she saw how I had dressed myself. Not only had I put my black dress back on but I had rummaged through Agnes' cupboards until I had found what I was looking for. I now pulled in the waist of my dress tightly with a piece of white string; firstly to show Agnes that I wasn't a little girl and was getting a waist as well as to lend the dress a bit more shape on my body. My hair tumbled down over my shoulders in its usual waves that, although glossy in colour, lacked the slippery sheen Agnes' combing had given it. I smirked to myself in defiance and walked to the morgue well ahead of Agnes, who had initially tried to take my hand as though she really did think I was a little child.

The door of the morgue was open and before I even stepped in I could smell the strong stench of dying blood and hear the quiet buzzing of flies. My aunt Agnes blanched when she entered at both the smell of the corpses and the sight that greeted her; the sight of my dad (her brother) laid out on a dark wooden table; the wood soft with all the blood that had seeped into it. My aunt Agnes had paid for his body to be washed but not my mam who lay beside her husband, wrapped in her death shroud and still with a thin film of dead sweat clinging to be brow. They had both died of a dangerous fever that infected and conquered them all in one night. I remembered the whimpering and sobbing from their bedroom as the fever boiled their blood and shuddered. It was a miracle that I, a mere scrawny girl of ten, had managed to survive such a dangerous fever without even a scratch. It was a miracle that could mean my life was finally about to start getting better… Fat chance of that.

…**So, what do we think? **

**A big thank you for taking the time to read, I plan fairly regular updates and just to remind you (in case you didn't read the blather at the top) if you have anything to suggest please drop it in a review or PM- trust me, you'd be doing me favour putting in your suggestions and you would, of course, be credited for them. **


	2. Chapter 2

**It picks up soon, I promise Again, thanks for your support to everyone who reads! **

My parents' bodies remained next door in the morgue, there was little respect for the dead in Pendle and there would be no point in paying for a coffin and burying them. The business of the funeral over we walked together back to my Aunt Agnes' cottage; she offered me some words of comfort but neither of us spoke much. She probably thought I was in shock- I couldn't help it, but as hard as I tried I just couldnt bring myself to care about the death of my parents. In fact I felt almost liberated, relieved- now they could neber hurt or oppress me again. It looked like my life was finally starting to get better.

When we returned to my Aunt Agne's cottage, however, there was a note pinned to her front door. It was from a woman called Sarah whom my aunt Agnes was evidently friendly with. When Agnes read the note her whole face paled and I felt an unease in my stomach from the way she looked at me when she'd finished reading. I just knew it'd be bad news... It was far worse than I'd expected.

"Your aunt Lizzie's sent word" she told me, trying to keep her voice steady. My heart skipped a beat and my blood turned chilly. "She says she wants me to deliver you to her cottage before nightfall today. She says you'll live with her now."

As the shock slowly wore off I stared at my aunt Agnes in astonishment. My aunt Lizzie, my mam's sister, had never really spoken to my mam much, just visited sometime. As far as I could remember my aunt Lizzie had never so much as asked after my health.

"But aunt Lizzie can't mean it, she doesn't even like me!" I protested. "She'd as soon as take my bones rather than look after me! Can't I stay with you, aunt?" I asked pleadingly, making my eyes go all wide and earnest. I'd be her little girl and let her plait my hair- I'd even hold her hand if it stopped her from sending me to Lizzie!

My aunt Agnes looked at me for a moment and I saw her weaken and then become resolute. She straightened up to her full height, making herself a couple of inches taller than me. She screw the note up in her fist.

"You go in, Alice. I'm going to see Sarah and send word to Lizzie that I won't do it, you' ll live here with me from now on."

I beamed up at my favourite aunt and went in to start getting our supper ready. About halfway through however I realised how stupid I'd been. Lizzie always got her own way and there was no way my aunt Agnes was strong enough to stand against her.


	3. Chapter 3

One month later

I had been living with my aunt Lizzie for about a month now and I was settled into a routine. Lizzie had given me a room on the top floor of the house, smaller than the room I'd had at my parents' house but I'd given it a good clean and I preferred this one. The ceiling was now clear of cobwebs and I'd sluiced all the grime from the window that had previously been black with dirt. I'd worked long and hard at washing the sheets and duvet for my bed and had managed to succeed in getting them to an off-white colour. She liked to feed me up as well, Lizzie; said I was too skinny and I needed to grow up strong. She fed me lots of meat, gravy and bread and started increasing my alcohol intake by giving me a couple of glasses of wine every Friday evening; thick, red wine that she said would make my heart and blood grow rich. Sometimes she gave me more, though, if I'd been cheeky or defiant and she wanted to teach me a lesson. There were few things I hated more than the dizziness that came with that wine and Lizzie knew. She didn't beat me as much as my parents had but she still hurt me a lot.

Most weeks she took blood from me to help her spells and I no longer liked to look at my scarred arms, although there were only about fifteen so far. It seemed so unfair that just as I was beginning to care about being pretty Lizzie was taking it away from me- obviously I never went around with my arms bared before (apart from the stifling hot days when I was younger and had run around naked) but now I felt self-conscious. In one way they were badges of honour; in another, they were scars.

That night I prepared a chicken stew for supper and Lizzie devoured it gracelessly as ever, although she did compliment me on my freshly baked bread which was as soft and doughy as the most expensive bread money could buy. It was still warm, too, and buttery. I think we both enjoyed that more than the stew.

"You can make this more often, girl" she told me, stuffing another slice in her mouth and following it with a full spoon of stew "it's good quality bread and we need to keep our strength up in this job." She stopped and gave me a shifty glance. "How do you think you're getting on so far?"

I shrugged and reached for another piece of buttery bread only for Lizzie to slap it out of my hand.

"This job isn't just about stuffing your face, girl" she snapped at me, and as little as I care about her opinion I must admit I felt a prick of annoyance. "It's about hard graft and working to become the best. You don't just sit around and wait for someone to hand it to you on a plate- now tell me, girl, do you want to be a coven leader, or a coven cook?"

In truth I wanted to be neither and I knew Lizzie knew it so I kept silent and lowered my eyes. She slapped me hard across the face and I felt a rush of cool air as the skin on my cheek opened followed by warmth. I felt a trickle of blood begin to run down my cheek and tears of pain pricked behind my eyes. I scrambled up off my stool and scurried up the stairs to my bedroom; I knew how important it was to get to my bedroom before Lizzie had the chance to "teach" me any further. I bolted the door frantically behind me, well aware she would be able to open it anyway by use of magic.

After a couple of hours sketching in my little brown notebook I unlaced my shoes and untied the string from my waist and pulled my dress off over my head. I jumped onto my bed and wriggled in under the duvet, burying my head in the soft pillow. I relished in the comfort of it more than I had ever done before although I didn't know why and the small mounds of my developing breasts felt tender and heavier- hopefully a sign they were growing.

I woke up with an uncomfortable feeling between my legs; sort of a mix between stickiness and sweat. I wriggled and felt my thighs rub together, also sticky. There was a dark grey stain on the front of my duvet and when I threw the covers back to stare down at my naked body I was astonished to see the mess of congealed blood that had spread from between my legs to my inner thighs. I knew that girls around my age might begin to bleed from between their legs but I'd never expected it to be so sticky and messy- no one ever mentioned how messy and uncomfortable the transition to womanhood was. I could feel the blood still trickling down and leapt out of the bed, a little shocked. Every girl knows this moment is coming but no girl knows when and I hadn't expected it so abruptly, without any sort of build-up.

I grabbed my dress from where it was hung over the chair at my desk and ran downstairs, barefoot and naked, to the stream.

As I stood mid-thigh in the flowing water, watching the crimson-coloured water wash me clean and flow away downstream three boys I knew by sight from the Malkin village walked past. They made wolf-whistles and cat calls and I stood there; numb, deep in thought. In truth I was becoming a woman now and leaving my childhood behind. My breasts were developing and soon I would need a bind for them; my waist was becoming defined and my hips were widening to accommodate a child. I also had dark hair beginning to sprout in places too that I frequently found myself shaving off with a borrowed knife.

Most girls look forward to the day when they become a woman but for me it was different. I had always looked forward to being able to run away and live by myself forever but I could've managed that a dozen times by now if I didn't keep getting caught and brought back. Becoming a woman meant, for me, becoming a witch; I knew I wouldn't have any choice in the matter once Lizzie knew. She always said that a girl's true training begins once she has had her first blood and now I was worried she would set me on a path I had no choice but to follow. I often wished that I could just run away into the wilderness and live off the land and I never wished it more than I did in that moment. So that's what I would do: run away before Lizzie found out I'd had my first blood so I could avoid becoming a witch forever.


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you to everyone who reads and thank you especially to Winnie, once again, for all her brilliant help Those of you who still haven't checked out her stories her penname is Winnifred Artemis, and they're all great This one's for Winnie and Emmy (my anonymous reviewer) it's people like you that keep Alice's story going :P**

I'd run away from my parents' house on several occasions, although every time they'd eventually found me and dragged me back home by my hair before beating me until I could hardly move. There may have been two of them and only one of Lizzie but there was no question of who could hurt me more, although I judged that to be a risk worth taking. My parents had, presumably, tracked me down because they had at least some regard for me, even if only as their skivvy; I doubted that Lizzie would even care, she could easily find another girl to do her cooking for her.

I stepped out of the stream quickly, rubbing off the remains of the congealing blood and pulled my dress on, tying it at the waist with the piece of white string I'd been wearing since Lizzie collected me and had worn around my dress ever since and put my pointy shoes back on before breaking into a sprint in a southerly direction. I wanted to go south-west to get right out of Pendle district and everyone said it was nicer weather down south- I would find work easier, too, and by the end of the month I could be happily living in one of those big houses rich people have working as a kitchen maid. I'd always wanted to be a maid in one of those big houses; ever since I was a little girl. I couldn't imagine a better life than being surrounded by the shiny metal and the soft fabrics and all those things rich people could afford, even for the servants. I'd known a girl once called Emma whose older sister had worked in Read Hall as a housemaid. She'd said that her sister had a wardrobe she'd shared with another girl, three square meals a day and a dress made from fine cotton. Emma had laughed then and told me there's not a lady alive who would take me for anything more than a beggar outside her gate and that's what I was destined to be. A gutter rat. I'd broken Emma's nose for that and received the spanking of my life from her mother. My bottom and the backs of my legs had been bright red for almost a week.

I took a little-known short-cut through the woods where I would normally lie back and listen to the birds or watch the clouds and ran through the stream through the deepest part which came up to my waist; the blood was still trickling down between my legs. I felt like singing with joy as I saw the woods thinning out and realised that in just over a mile I would be out of Pendle district- I'd never been very far south and was looking forward to it. Until I found work I could sleep beneath the stars and live off the land, catching rabbits and eating berries. I would never return to Pendle, not for anything.

From the left a large, heavy tree branch swung at me and hit me in the chest, winding me and knocking me to the ground. As I lay on the ground, my tender breasts throbbing from the blow, and trying to regain my breath I saw that the branch was, in fact, a large muscular arm clothed in a leather jerkin and it was reaching for me. I would've fought back but I was still breathless, weak and injured and the arm lifted me up and threw me over someone's shoulder. It was then that Lizzie's face came into view and I smelt her fetid breath; almost retching at the stench of blood.

"Thought you could get away, did you, girl?" She sneered at me. "I knew when your first blood would be even before your parents died."

I merely stared at her, too stunned to reply.

"This is Tusk," Lizzie added, nodding towards the shoulder holding me. I could feel that whoever it was was exceptionally muscular and tall- and they stank to high heaven. "My dear uncle, Mother's Malkin's own son. What do you think he makes of your betrayal?"

The man named Tusk just grunted.

"I haven't betrayed anybody!" I retorted, having finally regained my breath.

"You tried to run away, girl, and for that you must be punished." Lizzie sneered again before turning and walking back to her cottage in a different direction that I had come from. I thought I would be put back down to walk but instead I endured the journey remaining on Tusk's back, while my stomach churned wondering what Lizzie had planned.

** Any requests? Drop it in a review or PM! **


	5. Chapter 5

**Thanks to Emmy for her great reviews and Winny for all her great help :P Seriously, everyone, if you like my stuff check out WinnifredArtemis stories :D Also, if you're old enough and like sweet with a little spice check out my new Tom/Alice romance 'All alone in a Dusty room' rating M :D **

**Just a short one, here, tying up loose ends from the last chapter :)**

I was carried back to Lizzie's cottage over Tusk's shoulder which dug uncomfortably into my stomach. Far more uncomfortable, however, was the feeling of blood seeping into my dress. I would have to get the stains out before venturing out again or else risk colossal humiliation. Lizzie unlocked the door of her cottage and Tusk followed her inside, throwing me down onto the floor. I lay sprawled there, unable to register what was happening until it was too late and Lizzie's shoe had kicked me... in the face. I covered the wound with my hand and curled into a ball to try and protect myself. I expected Tusk to join in but he just stood there and watched silently. Almost seven foot tall, he was, with grey greasy hair and too many teeth to fit into his mouth. They looked dangerous, those teeth, big and yellow and sharp and there was no doubt he could tear a chunk from my flesh if he wanted to.

Lizzie continued to rain blows and kicks down upon me until I whimpered and thrust her hand into my hair, dragging me to my feet and kicking me in the back. "Get up those stairs, girl, and into your room or else you'll get worse than that!" She snapped. I obeyed, staggering up the stairs to my bedroom, bolting the door behind me and throwing myself down onto my bed. I heard Lizzie outside the door. She muttered something and I heard the click of a door locking and my room became dark and cold. Just as I heard Lizzie moving away from the door shadowy things began to creep towards me from the darkest corners of the room.

She left me in there for two days and nights with no food, unable to sleep and with nothing to drink except two bottles of the red wine she knew I hated. Two nights of pain, hunger and terror as punishment before I was let out. I then received a new dress, fit for a novice who has had her first blood; a bind for my breasts and two new scars for my arms. If Lizzie thought this would be the end, she was wrong. One day I would get even. I might be scared, but I wasn't hers yet.

**Any thoughts/ suggestions? Review or PM, thanks for reading! **


	6. Chapter 6

Flashback

_I sat on the bottom step looking up at my parents, my face sore and aching. My right eye had a large bruise covering it, her bottom lip was split and the rest of my face was scratched. The rest of my body had suffered the same treatment. My crime had been to insult Anne Malkin to her face upon last visiting Malkin tower. Anne had immediately taken out her knife- always razor-sharp, always pristine- and given me a bad cut on my arm that would surely scar and my mother had dragged me home by my hair before beating me savagely. Now she and my father were going away for two nights, leaving six-year-old Alice home alone. _

_ "__We'll be locking the door behind us." My father warned just as he and my mother were about to leave. "And if you think the beating you had two days ago was bad, just wait and see what you get if you try to leave this house."_

_ "__There's soup on the stove, heat it up if you get hungry." My mother added. "Go to bed at eight and do all your other chores. Right, got all that? Good. We'll be back in three days."_

_I didn't reply, just glowered down at the floor. I didn't like being left alone overnight; in a place like Pendle, there was no telling what might happen. _

_With that, my parents left, locking the door behind them and I was all alone. It was mid-December and the entire cottage was cold and draughty. My mother hadn't left much soup- only about enough for three meals so I would have to be sparing with it although she would have loved to tip its entire warm contents down my to get some heat into my body. _

_At eight o'clock I took my blanket and pillow downstairs and set them next to the fireplace. I tried to build myself a decent fire to try to keep warm but I had only three handfuls of very small lumps of coal and a few fistfuls of kindling. Coal and firewood weren't needed in this house- my parents only rarely built the fire up- but on the nights when I was alone; I liked to indulge myself. Besides, I could always creep out of the house in the early hours of the morning to get more firewood. _

_I built the fire up as high as I could and then snuggled up close to the embers to try and drop off to sleep. The floor was cold and hard and outside I could hear a faint cackle somewhere in the distance. _

_ "__One day" I whispered to myself. "I'm going to run away from here. I'm going to live in a big house with posh furniture and blankets made from cotton and a nice, big fire." I told myself that I would be comfortable and safe and warm. That I'd have nice things and wear pretty dresses. That I'd be happy._


End file.
